TransFormers: Fry In The Pan
by Microwave Jockey
Summary: Optimus' noodles will not open! Only Jazz - and possibly a million other inept mechanoids - can solve this crisis! Read Now! Chapter 7 uploaded! You didn't think I'd forgotten, did you?
1. More Than Bakes The Pie!

TransFormers: More Than Bakes The Pie!  
  
Author's Note: My first TF fic was going nowhere, so I've made the decision to restart and do something totally stupid. But at least I'll be able to stay awake through this one. So, here we go. ***********  
  
0730 hours (Earth Time), Location: The Ark.  
  
"By the power of the Matrix, OPEN YOU SLAGGIN' PLASTIC CONTAINER MODULE!"  
  
Jazz came stumbling into the Ark's primary kitchen and was greeted by these words. His optic sensors had not yet adjusted to the bright lights of the hallways after waking from his brief recharge period/catnap, and by the sounds of things someone felt like giving him a mecha-migraine to go with his blindness.  
  
"Uhhh.That you, Prime?"  
  
"Jazz! I need assistance!"  
  
"With what?"  
  
Jazz' eyesight came back just in time to see a small plastic cylinder flying toward him. Catching it in one hand, he felt a distinct increase in his arm-mounted thermometers; whatever it was the object was warm.  
  
"And this is.?"  
  
"It's my Micro Noodles!"  
  
Jazz stared at the object. Indeed, the words 'Ready for consumption after 90 seconds in the microwave' were printed on its side. Jazz tugged at the lid, but the thin foil would not budge.  
  
"Well, I can't get this to work either. Have you asked Wheeljack to do something about it?"  
  
"I just did. He's in his lab working on 'something which looks like a winner' as we speak."  
  
~The Ark's Main Lab Area~  
  
"Wheeljack?"  
  
"Yeah, Ratchet?"  
  
"Isn't the BLUE wire generally the safest option for failsafe connections?"  
  
"Well, you're correct as usual, my medical friend, but I can't use that, on account of using up the last of the blue wiring to create the new washing machine, which my glamorous assistant over there is modelling."  
  
Wheeljack waved to his left, and a red silk curtain was raised, showing Arcee posing with something which appeared to be a miniaturised, less- functional version of the Millennium Falcon. Such faults were lost on Arcee, who was too busy pouting for the non-existent camera.  
  
Wheeljack continued. ".Isn't she lovely? Anyway, that's exactly why I'm havin' to use this thin strand of low-quality copper. Which, as you may know, is the normal material for Autobot nasal hair."  
  
Ratchet resisted the urge to ask where said nasal hair came from. "Wouldn't the high current from the power supply instantly fry the wiring and result in a disastrous system crash, with fatal side-effects for those in the immediate proximity?"  
  
Wheeljack seemed to think for a moment, the small disco-globes on the sides of his head rotating and sparkling softly. Then he snapped, "My genius intellect tells me that you're a moron who has noooo idea what he's talking about, and I would kindly advise you to keep your scent sensors to yourself while I become the pioneer of another Nobel Prize-winning invention."  
  
Ratchet cringed. He was thinking of running away, but had been hypnotised by Wheeljack's glittering balls. Plus, he was a medic, for Primus' sake; he hadn't ran since Physical class at the Secondary Education Institute.  
  
With a smarmy flourish, Wheeljack connected the last resistor and switched on the power. The results were quick and efficient; an enormous explosion knocked Ratchet off his feet, Arcee collapsed and was promptly crushed under the falling washing machine, and Wheeljack's left arm was torn off. Then silence fell.  
  
Wheeljack stood exactly where he was and blinked slowly. Ratchet struggled to heave his top-heavy body from the floor. Arcee lay motionless in what J.R. would call 'a compromising position'. Nobody could think of anything to say. Well, until Hot Rod showed up, wearing a pair of fake Armani sunglasses, which he hadn't taken off since he'd seen Terminator 2.  
  
"Woah, dude!"  
  
That cracked it. Ratchet mumbled a vague death threat; Arcee closed her legs quicker than the average carbon-based life form can blink; and Wheeljack picked up his left arm in his right and proceeded to beat the mechanical moron around the head with it, swinging as hard as he possibly could.  
  
~Back in the kitchen~  
  
Prime and Jazz were silent as they heard a muffled explosion. There was a short pause, then the sound of metal hitting against metal could be heard, mixing with high-pitched yelps of pain.  
  
Prime nodded. "It sounds like he's making progress."  
  
Jazz was thoughtful. "Have you tried asking the 'Cons to open this?"  
  
Optimus' reaction was quick and to the point. "NEVER! How could I betray my predecessors and plead for my enemy's assistance? How could - wait a minute!" Optimus levelled a finger at Jazz. "Are you implying that you plan to betray the Autobots?!"  
  
Jazz was confused. "No, what I meant was."  
  
Optimus was now livid, waggling his metallic arms in all directions. "YOU DARE BETRAY US! I thought I could trust you, and look what you go and do! I have half a neural cortex to - "  
  
Jazz slapped Optimus right on the faceplate. "Shut up, man! All I meant was that Megatron could easily just shoot the lid off this thing! We don't have that kind of firepower!"  
  
Optimus stroked his chin. "What about Omega Supreme?"  
  
Jazz shook his head. "He's not appearing in this chapter, Prime."  
  
Optimus shook his head. "Very well then. I don't like it, but there's no other way." Prime took a deep breath. ".ROLL OUT FOR THE DECEPTICON BASE!"  
  
Jazz covered his audio receptors. "Don't shout, man! I'm the only one who's going!"  
  
Optimus nodded. "True, but Bumblebee might want to tag along."  
  
Jazz sank to his knees. "NOOOOOOOO!"  
  
"Aww, quit your whining and get a move on."  
  
"Yessir!"  
  
With that, Jazz transformed into one heckuva sexy Porsche and.promptly stalled on the spot.  
  
"Scrap! What's wrong?"  
  
Optimus scratched his head. "That would be Teletran 1's fault. It continuously updates our systems while we recharge to keep our alternate modes up to date with the latest human models, and it seems the latest Porsches are terrible."  
  
"Dang. So I have to WALK or somethin'?"  
  
"Hey, don't feel as if you drew the short straw. I only get two miles to the gallon now!"  
  
***************  
  
Author's Note: Not a bad start, eh? Next time, Jazz boldly goes where no Autobot has gone before.to an AA centre! Well, no, but I might use that idea some other time. It might be funny.seriously though, he's going to Decepticon HQ to see what they can do with this situation.  
  
Will Jazz survive his meeting with the 'Cons?  
  
Will Wheeljack create something which actually works?  
  
Will Megatron shoot his own foot then fly away, yelling "I SHALL RETURRRRRRNNNNN!"? (Probably)  
  
The answers to these and more in the next exciting episode, entitled 'TransFormers: The Ultmiate Spoon'.  
  
Microwave Jockey 


	2. The Ultimate Spoon

TransFormers: The Ultimate Spoon!  
  
Author's Note: And so begins Chapter 2. Jazz is on his way to have a chinwag with the Decepticons, Wheeljack continues to blow things up, and Arcee has the painters in. Actually, I have no idea if that last bit is true or not; it's not like robots can bleed like us anyway. And now.REVIEWERS!  
  
Vega Sailor: You'll find out soon enough. Mwuhahahahaaa!  
  
Skins Thunderbomb: Thanks very much, and 'Opie' can eat just fine; he has a mouth just like the rest of them. But due to an obscure contract obligation, Prime, Soundwave and certain others must wear a ridiculous face- mask thing. Although it has been rumoured that Wheeljack's face was redesigned to minimise his allergy sufferings.  
  
Now, in case you folks were wondering about the odd chapter names, and the name of the whole story, I've taken the names of episodes from the immortal TF cartoon and changed them to have something to do with food. Hence 'Fire In The Sky' becomes 'Fry In The Pan', 'More Than Meets The Eye' becomes 'More Than Bakes The Pie', and now, 'The Ultimate Doom' becomes 'The Ultimate Spoon'. I need to get out more.  
  
**********  
  
Time: 1045 Earth Hours. Location: Decepticon Headquarters, Floor of the Pacific Ocean.  
  
Jazz stared glumly up at the odd icon proudly displayed above the door in front of him, and sighed. The Predacons had recently taken Megatron to court over the rather pointless issue as to why they can't use the Beast Wars Predacon logo, which, in their words, "is way cooler than that stupid pointy purple thing anyway". Megatron took great offense at this, but even threatening that the jury would be crushed with his bare hands was not enough to win the case. So a compromise was worked out, and all Decepticons were refitted with an obscure amalgamation of both logos. It looked ridiculous, but at least it didn't give Predaking an excuse to leak lubricant all over the walls.  
  
Swallowing his pride, Jazz pressed the gigantic red button located right in the centre of the door, just below a sign reading 'Don Not Press This Button Or You Shall Face Termination'. The door squeaked open slowly, and Jazz caught sight of a single yellow dot flashing at him, just before the door abruptly swung open the rest of the way and a purple gun barrel was pointed in his face.  
  
"Prepare for termination!" said a menacing figure in a refined English accent.  
  
"Dude, it's Jazz," replied the walking car, "I'm not actively trying to break in."  
  
"But you pressed the red button!"  
  
"So what?"  
  
"Visitors press the other button!"  
  
"There is no other button!"  
  
"Huh?" The angular, cycloptic head of Shockwave leaned outside and looked at the door, before turning back inside and yelling into the complex. "SOUNDWAVE! I HAVE A QUERY!"  
  
Soundwave suddenly appeared directly beside Shockwave, his voice echoing and inflectionless. "Is. Assistance. Required?"  
  
Shockwave jumped slightly at the sudden noise, his single optic glowing brightly. "Stop playing around with your vocal processor!"  
  
"You. Got. A. Cheek. To. Talk."  
  
"Why, you miserable mental inferior! I have fifty percent of a cerebro- mainframe to shut you down permanently!"  
  
"Bring. It. On. Beeyotch."  
  
"SILENCE YOU FOOLS! Bring the Autobot prisoner before me!" Another voice, that of head evil nasty thing Megatron, echoed through the hall.  
  
"As. You. Command. Megatron." Soundwave promptly grabbed Jazz' arm and lead him further into the building, ignoring Shockwave flipping him off.  
  
A sudden thought occurred to Jazz. "Hey, you left the door open, right?"  
  
Shockwave replied, his voice now more authorative as they approached Megatron's hall. "Correct."  
  
"So, shouldn't this building be filling up with water? We are under the sea and all."  
  
Shcokwave pondered this fact for a moment. "The central computer claims this situation is due to a forcefield system which is far too complex for any of us to understand, although it has been rumoured that this is all due to the lazy and idiotic artists who worked on the cartoon. Nobody claims this to be the case anymore."  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because the artists erased all those who believed this to be truth. Which, now you think of it, DOES seem to be the most logical theory - AAAARRRRGGGHHHH!"  
  
An enormous piece of pink rubber materialised through a transwarp gate at that point, scrubbing furiously at Shockwave, deleting him one line, one layer of colour, at a time.  
  
"Help meeeeeeeeeeeee!"  
  
Soundwave just stood there and pointed at his stricken comrade. "Ha. Ha. Haaaaa."  
  
With a sickening, Looney Tunes-patented 'boing' sound, Shockwave vanished from existence, doomed to appear only in the comics from this point on. Soundwave and Jazz stood and stared for a moment, before continuing along.  
  
Arriving in Megatron's court, they found the self-proclaimed Future Master Of The Universe And Everything In It sitting in an enormous purple lounge chair, stroking a quietly purring Ravage. In seconds, his demeanour changed from 'mild' to 'gloating' after catching sight of Jazz.  
  
"Ahahahahhaaaaa! Now we have you in our grasp, Teletran 1's secrets shall be mine, ALL MINE!" the 'Con leader exclaimed, with much arm-waggling.  
  
Jazz was confused again. "What secrets? It's a slaggin' Etch-A-Sketch, any fool can see that!"  
  
Megatron sat down again. "Bugger."  
  
Ever one to make his presence known, the white and red Seeker, Starscream, went into his all-too-familiar routine. "If I was leader of the Decepticons, we wouldn't waste our energy on such pointless pursuits!"  
  
Megatron rolled his optics. Then he put them back in his head. "Why, because we'd waste all our energy on talking, just like you do?"  
  
"Whaddaya mean, waste ALL our - gaaak!" Starscream choked and ground to a standstill, his optics reverting to an unlit grey.  
  
"Fool. Skywarp, Thundercracker, go throw him in a volcano or something." Megatron waved a hand in dismissal as he spoke.  
  
"Can I get down to why I'm here," Jazz started, "or is radio-man here gonna hold me for eternity?"  
  
"Oh great, now he's getting all impatient. How scary." Megatron smirked. "Soundwave, release him."  
  
"As. You. Command. Megatron." Soundwave released Jazz.  
  
"Wait a minute. . ." Megatron thought, ". . . Soundwave, pretend to be evil."  
  
"As. You. Command. Megatron." Soundwave promptly raised one hand in the sir and pressed his 'play' button. A recording of one of Adolf Hitler's speeches blasted out around the room.  
  
"Sweet! Soundwave," yelled Megatron over the deafening German commands, "kick yourself in the head."  
  
"As. You. Command. Megatron." Soundwave kicked his own head, quite a feat with his lack of articulation points. Then he lost consciousness and keeled over.  
  
"Sometimes I wonder why you guys fail when you have loyalty like that." Jazz rummaged around in his bonnet for a while, before removing a scorch- marked plastic container. "Prime was wondering if you can open this for him."  
  
"Hmmm. A worthy challenge. But," Megatron raised his right arm above his head, the fist retracting and being replaced by a glowing spiked mace, "NOT FOR LONG!"  
  
Megatron brought the mace down with all his force, resulting in about 90 tons of concussive pressure. The container wasn't even dented. Megs leapt away, cradling his forearm.  
  
"You dare to damage the mighty Megatron? You must have a blowout in your logic circuits!" Megatron took aim and fired his arm-mounted Fusion Cannon, striking the container dead centre. The shot of pink antimatter deflected harmlessly from the still invincible Noodles, and bounced around the room randomly until it hit Megatron clean in the foot.  
  
"GAH! I have been wounded! RETREAT!" Megatron yelled. Nobody responded, on account of no other 'Cons being in operational condition. "But I promise you. . .I will be avenged, Autobot," Megatron was grinning away to himself as he said this, "I SHALL RETUUURRRRRNNN!" Then the bucket-headed one turned tail and blew a hole in the ceiling, flying away into the noon sky.  
  
Jazz just stood there, dumbstruck. Soundwave, struggling to his feet, pressed the 'play' button again, making use of his personal favourite sample.  
  
"Aww shit, what are we gonna do now?!"  
  
***************  
  
Author's Note: My best ending yet, I think. Please, if you liked/hated the story so far, send a review telling what was so good/abysmal. Any and all suggestions are welcome. Ta-ra for now!  
  
Microwave Jockey 


	3. War Of The Digestives

TransFormers: War Of The Digestives

Author's Note:  Time for chapter 3, then.  For the uneducated ones among you, the title is derived from the cartoon episode 'War Of The Dinobots', although I offer no guarantees that this fic has anything remotely to do with that episode.  Now, honest and noble reviewers: roll out for the roll call!

MarinBlue:  Yes, more, more than you can possibly imagine…Mwuhahahaaa!

Pivot:  Order acknowledged.  Update proceeding.  Resistance.  Is.  Futile.

Skins Thunderbomb:  No need to thank me, and what happens next is what follows.

And hey-diddly-ho, let's get on with the show!

**************

Time:  1200 earth hours.  Location:  Arizona desert.

Grimlock shook the dust from his joints as something flew overhead; a big, silver, humanoid something.  For the average Autobot, this would be a cause for concern, as it took little imagination to identify the flying object as Megatron.  But this is Grimlock, so those rules don't apply.

"Hey!  Me Grimlock think persons can't fly!" the pea-brained one exclaimed, pointing at the lone figure.

"That's not a person, Grimlock," said an exasperated Mirage, believing himself, as ever, to be surrounded by inferiors.

"What then?"

"It's clearly Megatron, leader of our enemy's forces."

This was too much for Grimlock; 'enemy' had three syllables, after all.  "Uhhh…so we shoot now?"

Mirage shrugged.  "Sure.  It can't hurt."

Grimlock hefted his twin-barrelled rifle and, utilising the expert combat data Wheeljack and Ratchet inserted into his memory banks, shot himself three times in the chest, dead-centre.  He promptly collapsed and lay silent for a moment as the other Dinobots stared blankly ahead, thin strings of oil leaking through their open mouths.  Then he abruptly sat up and glared at Mirage.

"You say it no hurt!" the crazed 'bot accused, waving a fist at the outnumbered spy.

Mirage thought about using a witty comeback with extra sarcasm, but decided against it upon noticing the metallic lizard's meat-headed comrades encircling him.  "Eh, Byeeee!"  Mirage sharply activated his electro-disruptors, vanishing in a shimmer of air.

Grimlock really didn't like that.  "ME GRIMLOCK MUNCH HEAD OF COWARD!  If me could find him…"

Sludge's eyes suddenly came into focus.  "Hey, where the hell am I?"

****************************

Time:  1200 Earth hours.  Location:  Decepticon Headquarters, Lower Floors.

Soundwave led Jazz down a seemingly neverending stream of darkened hallways, lined with cells.  Every cell seemed to contain some form of hideous monster or animal.

"Dude," said Jazz, again beginning to start up conversation with the blocky mech, "who are all these guys you've locked away?"

"Fellow.  Cybertronians."  Soundwave still couldn't be bothered to set his voice patterns to the default tone.  "Members.  Of.  The.  Beast.  Wars.  Series.  And.  The.  Generation.  One.  Pretenders."

"And you felt like locking them up because…?"

"Poor.  Market.  Performance.  Children.  Do.  Not.  Want.  To.  Play.  With.  Stupid.  Creatures."

One of the cell's inhabitants, a green-eyed cheetah, called to Jazz.  "Get me outta here, man!"

Soundwave promptly marched over to the offending creature's cage and stabbed it right between the eyes with an industrial strength cattle prod, knocking it out.

"No.  Talking.  In.  The.  Cage."

Arriving in a large hangar, Soundwave stalked away in the direction of a group of lime-green mechas who seemed to be having a siesta, buckets of cold coffee surrounding them.

"Constructicons.  Rise."

The brightly-coloured garbage-cans refused to move.  Soundwave turned up the 'volume' control on the side of his torso, and spoke considerably louder to the unconscious 'Cons.

"GET.  UP.  YOU.  LAZY.  SONS.  OF.  MICROSOFT.  POWERPOINT.  PUBLISHING."

The Constructicons woke with a bunch of assorted grumbling regarding last night's soap operas.

"Who dares disturb nap-time?"  The self-appointed 'leader' of the Constructicons (and deviser of their catchy name), Scrapper, demanded of the visitors.

"That.  Would.  Be.  Me."

"Then…" Scrapper took a deep breath, "…PREPARE FOR DEVASTATION!  CONSTRUCTICONS, UNITE!"

In their typical piece de resistance, the 'Cons stuck themselves together to create the oversized Devastator, which (for the benefit of those who have not had the 'pleasure' of seeing this moron in action) is a lime-green framework of a robot about three times the height of the average Decepticon.

Soundwave was unimpressed.  "I.  Knew.  You'd.  Do.  That."

Jazz, who was starting to feel like everyone had left him out of the story, decided to butt in.  "Hey, you look like a 'hard mech'; why don't YOU try opening this dang thing?"

Devastator stared blankly down at the small object the Autobot had deposited on the floor in front of him.  After five minutes of solid thinking, the five united-yet-separate minds decided on the most logical course of action.

"Devastator…CRUSH!"  yelled the behemoth, raising one foot up high…

~Ten Minutes Later~

The foot was still rising…

~Ten Minutes After That~

The foot had not yet reached its peak.  Jazz and Soundwave had long since lost attention, and were now playing Poketron on two linked Game Bot Advances.

~Twenty Minutes After Both Jazz And Soundwave Ran Out Of GBA Batteries~

"FINALLY!" exclaimed the oversized 'bot, as his foot went as far up as its limited joints allowed it to go.  "CRUSHHHHH!"

The foot came down with an impact akin to that of an airdrop of elephants.  About twenty elephants, give or take the odd hippo.

The foot promptly shattered, fragments of torn metal scattering over a large radius.  The echoing CLANG! woke Jazz and Soundwave from their stupor, and Devastator hopped around the room, balancing on his left foot while cradling the stump of his right with one hand.

"Owweee!  Owweee owweee owwweeeeee!" the big softy cried.

"Silence.  You.  Big.  Wimp."

"Primus!  That box ain't even dented!" Jazz exclaimed, quite truthfully; other than being less warm than it was at the start of our adventure, the container was unchanged.

"Devastator hurt!  Devastator want mommy!"  The big green mean machine promptly crawled into a small corner and sucked its thumb.

"Oh, brilliant.  You got any other genius ideas, cassette-man?"  Jazz was getting a bit fed up now.

"Impudence.  Will.  Not.  Be.  Tolerated." The comms-bot cracked his hand articulation points to emphasise his words.  This had little effect, however.

  
"Oh, bring it, tough guy!  You wanna see how far that mouth of yours'll get ya in a fight?"

"Prepare.  For.  Considerable.  Pain."

Before the situation could get any uglier, a section of the wall detonated inward, revealing a regal-looking purple mech with a sandcastle for a head and what appeared to be an orange trumpet stuck to its arm.  Cackling to itself, the robot swung its arm around and used said trumpet to fire a wide beam of pink stuff at Soundwave, decapitating the monotonic mech.

"Finally, my rise to power is complete!"  The new arrival waved his hands to the heavens in celebration.

"Uhh…dude…"  Jazz was confused.  "Who the hell are you?"

"My name is…"  The newcomer rose up in an attempt to look more grand, which failed.  "…GALVATRON!"

"A decepticon?  Then why did you blow up one of your most valuable soldiers?"

"To reinforce my own power base, fool!  It makes PERFECT sense!"  Looking around, Galvatron rolled his head back and screamed to the world…"BWAAAAAHHHHHHHHH!"

Jazz just stared.  Indeed, there is nothing more dangerous than a resourceful idiot.

*********************************************

Author's Note:  That wasn't so bad, now was it?  Drop me a line if you have some good ideas, because I need all the help I can get on this one.  Oh, and if I don't update again before the 25th…Merry Christmas to one and all!

Microwave Jockey


	4. Toast In The Machine

TransFormers:  Toast In The Machine

Author's Note:  As I write, I've no idea when this chapter will be uploaded, but it's safe to assume it'll be after Christmas.  Anyway, the namesake this time is the episode 'Ghost In The Machine', and if you think I'm making this up – and I can hardly blame you for thinking so – check for the Generation One Episode Guide, and see if you can think of something better.  Go on, I dare you.  And the reviews just keep on comin'!

Skins Thunderbomb:  The update is coming, my loyal fan.

Saphire Cat:  Thankyou, and Prime is returning.  As for swords…well, that's just too darn clever for them, isn't it?

Pivot:  My other loyal fan…thanks for giving me one heckuva good idea!

Are you ready?  Here we go!

************************

Time:  1255 Earth Hours.  Location:  Basement Level, Decepticon Headquarters.

"BWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"

Jazz cringed.  The purple menace had been yelling non-stop for the past ten minutes, and his orange arm-cannon was still active, just waiting to tear some new holes in the floor.  Plus, the guy's grating voice was murder on his audio receptors.  Hoping the psycho wouldn't see him, Jazz flipped open his arm-comm unit and whispered over a direct line to The Ark.

"If anyone is still around to hear this message, get your aluminium ass off your recharge beds and help me out down here, before this big violet – "

Another blast of pink matter severed Jazz' arm at the elbow.  The surprised car-bot fell backwards to the floor.

"Looks like you've been cut off – PERMANENTLY!  Ahahahahaaaaa!"

"Urrggghhh…"  Jazz rubbed the back of his head with his still-functioning hand.  "I don't know what hurts more; my arm or your overused jokes."

"You _dare _to mock the mighty Galvatron?!"  Spatters of oil flew from the enraged mech's mouth.  "Well, all I can say is…"

Jazz hazarded a guess.  "'Bwaaaahhh'?"

"No…"  Galvy took a deep breath.  "…BWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!"

Galvatron took careful aim with his arm-cannon, lining up Jazz' head perfectly.  He didn't even notice the large shadow fall over him.  Or the enormous grey foot that crushed him two astroseconds later.

Jazz blinked and looked up.  The foot belonged to a bulky gestalt with an orange face-shield and one arm ending in a cannon, the other in a large claw.  The behemoth stood in silence for a minute before its ancient vocal circuits came alive.

"Yelling:  Excessive.  Headache:  Irritable.  Termination:  Inevitable."  The giant made Soundwave's drone look positively alive with the sound of music.

Jazz grinned.  "Omega Supreme!  I didn't think you would turn up in this sorry tale!"

Omega looked down at the sports car.  "Placement:  Unavoidable.  Status:  One of author's favourite Autobots."

Jazz grumbled.  "I'm supposed to be the people's favourite around here…"

~Back At The Ark~

Optimus Prime, Benevolent Leader Of All That Is Good And Pure, stepped through the doors of what was once Wheeljack's laboratory, which now resembled the interior of a Beelthezan Impact Crater.  Or, at least, that's what he _thought_ the interior of a Beelthezan Impact Crater looked like.

"Wheeljack, are you having any luck with your new assignment?"  Prime was in an all-business mood today.  He'd managed to read one whole page of Earth's _Financial Times_ publication before he went into stasis lock.

"Negative, Optimus."  Wheeljack looked quite dumbfounded with his latest challenge.  "Try as I might, there just doesn't seem to be a way to stop Ironhide sounding like a bad Clint Eastwood motion picture."

"Thayat's enuff o' yorr chaik, ayas-howel!"  The security mech was easily offended when it came down to his vocal processes.  "Mah voyice is jest fahn, riyat Opteemuss?"

Prime blinked his optics several times.  "Pardon?"

"Mah voyice!"

"Which orifice?"

"Whuh?"

"You said something about an orifice."

"Naw I diyunt!"

"You want a donut?"

"Dang!"

"For Primus' sake…"  Optimus pulled his laser rifle out of the invisible void where he kept his secondary components if they weren't being used and shot Ironhide point-blank in the head, scattering fragments of steel and wiring all over the adjacent wall.

Wheeljack nodded.  "Now, _that's _decisive leadership."

The 'Bots were about to start up a game of Baccarat when Jazz' warning played over The Ark's PA system.  This had the unfortunate effect of waking up all the Autobots in the ancient ship, who were unsurprisingly quite miffed at having their beauty sleep disturbed.  Prime listened to the recording, then looked at each of the assembled Autobots.  Taking a deep breath, he uttered one of his most well-known and traditional phrases.

"Awright, who's buying the beers today?"

~Back At Decepticon HQ~

Jazz was sitting down cross-legged with the seemingly invincible noodles on the floor in front of him.  He'd long since left Omega Supreme to his own devices, and said gestalt was at this moment away in a corner, holding Devastator in a headlock and grating the top of the giant 'Con's head with the points of his claw.

"Demand:  Say 'uncle'."

"Devastator refuses!"

"Result:  Increased force."

"Devastator will hand over his lunch money!"

Jazz was still ignoring the two of them when he noticed a tremor spreading through the floor, which seemed to centre around the noodles.  Even as these thoughts flickered through Jazz' cerebro-circuits, the force of the tremor increased dramatically, and the steel flooring actually cracked, fissures running clean through it and the ocean bed below it.  Thin beams of light began to burst from the rupturing seams of the noodle container, and a hollow, echoing laugh reverberated around the room, breaking up the two gestalts and forcing Jazz to his feet…as the lid of the container burst away.

All suddenly became quiet for a few seconds, before a deafening crunch and explosion of dust and tortured metal knocked all three functioning TransFormers in the room off their feet.  Jazz struggled to get up, but the vibrations had returned, stronger this time…and so had a shrill, irritating beeping…

Wait a minute…I know that beeping… 

Opening his bonnet again, Jazz rummaged through the assorted contents until he found what he was looking for; a small, grey plastic object with numerous buttons and a screen.  Pressing one of the buttons, the tremors and the sound immediately stopped, and Jazz raised the device to his right audio receptor.  
"Hello?"

"Yo, dude!  This is Funky Blaster!"

"Whaddaya want now, you overgrown ghetto-blasting fool?"

"You catch me on MTV dis week, dawg?"

"No, and I hope to Primus they don't repeat it."  Jazz flipped off his mobile again before the moronic comms officer could figure out he was being insulted.

Looking up, Jazz realised he was no longer in the Decepticon HQ.  Devastator and Omega Supreme were still next to him, but the floor was now orange, and a massive head loomed over them, replete with green eyes, horns, and one seriously daft beard.  Without the gargantuan mech's mouth opening, a booming voice echoed throughout the area – which, Jazz realised, was just outside Earth's atmosphere.

"YOU CANNOT DESTROY MY DESTINYYYYY!  THE UNIVERSE WILL BE MINEEEEEEE!"

Suddenly, Jazz felt a tapping on his shoulder and turned, coming face to face with Sludge, the Diplodocus Dinobot.

"Uhh, excuse me, can you lend me some money for the bus ride home?"

*******************************

Author's Note:  There!  I wrote that all in one night!  It should at least keep you occupied until I can start work again, i.e. after the whole Xmas hoo-hah is over and done with.  If you want to compliment, aggravate, or make suggestions to me, drop me a review, and begone!  You never know, it may have an effect on the story; I wasn't planning to include Unicron until Pivot suggested that the noodles might mutate thanks to the energy they had absorbed.  Thanks again for that idea.  Anyway, Merry Chrizzlemas to y'all, and remember…there's a fine line between being a hero…and being a total prat.

Microwave Jockey


	5. Five Donuts Of Darkness

TransFormers:  Five Donuts Of Darkness

Author's Note:  It feels like an eternity since I last updated; in fact, I had to re-read this thing from the beginning to actually remember where to go.  Luckily, I left a Post-It note telling me what the next chapter should be…or maybe it was a shopping list made from the torn cover of one of the Worst Guitar Band Ever's CDs.  I guess we'll never know.    Well, actually, this chapter's name is derived from the awful 'Five Faces Of Darkness' cartoon episodes.  I know, 'Donuts' isn't a good substitute for 'Faces', but it's better than 'Faeces', alright?  Now, reviewers; make yaselves known!

Skins Thunderbomb:  Hello again to Biggest Fan Version 1, and you don't have to thank me for Ironhide's tragic demise.  He had it coming, and so do a few others.  Blaster's next…(did I say that aloud?)

Pivot:  Greetings once more to Biggest Fan Version 2, and I don't mind eggs so long as the yolk is still runny.

And off we go!  COWABUNGAAAAAAA!  (?)

******************************

Time:  1315 Earth Hours.  Location:  Unicron, near Earth.

Jazz was in a seriously bad situation.  For starters, what he'd assumed to be nothing more than an indestructible pack of microwavable food had now revealed itself to be Unicron, or 'The Chaos Bringer' as he's known in the professional wrestling circuit.  Second, he was unable to contact The Ark for help thanks to a crazed purple mech severing his arm (and even if he could contact them, his own impending doom probably wouldn't be a valid reason for Optimus and co. to bat an optic-lid in grief). And to top it all off, he'd forgotten to set his VCR to tape tonight's _Ally McBeal.  _This was, indeed, a very bad thing.

"Hmmmm," rumbled the planet-sized prat, still not moving his lips.  "What carnage can I possibly cook up…a-ha!"

Reaching out with a fist he size of…

Jazz thought.  What _was _that fist the same size as anyway?

Nevermind.  It was a really big fist, and Unicron reached out with it and grabbed the moon in his palm, yanking it out of Earth's orbit.  This caused tremendous tidal waves to ravage the planet, but Unicron had bigger issues to worry about…

~Back At The Ark~

Optimus loved his lounge chair.  Originally just a lump of poseable steel, Ratchet had reconfigured it with the spark of Brawn, who had the misfortune to be taking a shuttle trip when the Decepticons did their first take for the shuttle-boarding scene in _TransFormers The Movie._  For reasons which remain shrouded in the same mystery as the JFK assassination, Brawn was testing out Wheeljack's newest armour prototype that day, which the cheerful techno-geek had codenamed 'Stormtrooper Plastic'.  Surprisingly enough, this proved to be ineffective against Megatron's main weapon, and Brawn, attempting to look tough for the cameras, died with the first shot, as shown in the special edition twin DVD pack's 'making of' documentary.  Also, the coating of the chair was 100% 'H-leather', another of Wheeljack's daft codenames, used for the rather revolting concept of tanned human skin.  While the Jackmeister was hardly sadistic as such, he'd felt that this was an appropriate way to deal with the young punks who frequently sneaked past Teletran 1's retarded security systems and sprayed graffiti all over the Ark's shiny orange walls.  And revolting as it may sound, it sure was comfortable.

Now, there isn't much that can awaken a snoozing Prime from a calming recharge period in front of a large widescreen TV showing repeats of _Baywatch Nights._  However, if said TV were to turn off or be jammed…

And whaddaya know?  The screen promptly burst into static, and a dull fizzing sound filled the room.

Prime twitched twice without switching himself online, before his optic sensors lit up and he leapt to his iron feet, clutching his head with both hands.

"TV?  _TV?!_"  Optimus was clearly distraught.  He sank to the floor on his knee joints, sobbing and leaking lubricant from his optics, before jumping up and drawing his rifle.  "DIIIIIIIEEEEEEE!"  With a cry of pure fuel-lust, Prime went into an insane trigger-happy rampage, blistering all the walls of the room with laser fire and breaking everything that wasn't essential to the survival of all TransFormers.  And a few things that were.  Then he stopped as abruptly as he started and stood in the middle of the room, seething, as the fire sprinklers activated.

"This…Is…_WAR!"_  He was not a happy bunny.

~Back On Unicron~

Unicron concentrated.  This act required all of his considerable might and power, and the consequences would be devastating should he fail.  Taking a short run-up, he swung his massive arm around and flung the small earth's moon with all his might, sending it soaring away to the far depths of the galaxy.  Not that he cared where it ended up; he just cared how many of those rocks he hit on the way.

Jazz focused his magnified optics on the Asteroid Belt which lay between Earth and Mars as Unicron tossed away.  The moon spun wildly but flew straight, and obliterated the hastily-assembled pyramid of space rock in its way.

Jazz grinned.  "Steee-rike!"  Then he quickly turned on his foot magnets as the planet-bot beneath him punched the air and did the Macarena dance routine in celebration.

Devastator raised one green arm and called to the enormous bearded mech.  "Devastator say you give me five!"  The lime-coloured gestalt never had a chance; obliging, Unicron raised and pushed his left hand, larger than the gestalt's entire body, at Devastator, knocking the Constructicon giant far away into deep space at a speed of several hundred miles per hour.

As the green giant became a smaller and smaller speck in the distance, a screeching voice could be heard.  "Looks like the Constructicons are blasting off agaaaaiiiinnnn!"  Then Devastator disappeared in a small burst of light.

Back on Unicron, Omega Supreme shook his head.  "Television parody quality:  Abysmal."

~A Large Volcano In Europe Somewhere~

Skywarp and Thundercracker were known primarily for their loyalty to Megatron, and the efficiency with which they acted in battle.  To be utterly honest, this had nothing to do with any intelligence or physical strength; rather, they were loyal because they were too stupid to think about arguing with Megs' orders, and were often triumphant in fights due to the fact that they looked so darn mean.  At this moment, they were on Megatron's latest assignment, that of disposing of Starscream's body.  Throwing said mechanical cadaver into a volcano ma have been a bit too elaborate a demise, particularly since the nearest volcano was a couple hundred miles away, but the two Seekers carried out their orders to the letter, as always.

"Bugger…"  Skywarp, the seemingly younger of the two, was exhausted.  "Carrying a passenger sure takes it out of ya, dunnit?"

"Not usually."  Thundercracker replied in his usual guttural rumble.  "I guess Screamer's been putting on some weight recently."

"Well, now that he's here…"  Skywarp peered over the edge of the crater, squinting at the warm orange glow rising up from below.  "He can have a little sauna to work out some of these calorie problems."

Both of he functioning Seekers chuckled slowly, before each taking one end of Starscream, Skywarp holding the head while Thundercracker held the legs, and swung him back and forth several times.  "One...Two…"

On the third swing…"FIVE!  Erm, FOUR!"…they let go, and Starscream's body sailed down into the waiting inferno.  The two jets stood there admiring there handiwork, when an ear-splitting sound rent the very air apart.

Thundercracker reeled.  "Skywarp, turn down that slaggin' Walkman!"

"I'm trying!"  Skywarp was fiddling with a tiny plastic device, which had several buttons on it, all of which were far too small for the Con's stubbly fingers to press.  Losing what little patience he had, Skywarp threw the device to the ground and swiftly stamped on it, silencing the racket.

Thundercracker recovered and stood up.  "What was that?"

Skywarp scratched his head, looking sheepish.  "My Papa Roach CD.  I forgot it was still in there."

All of a sudden, a translucent blue image flew up out of the volcano and stopped in front of the two jets.  It looked remarkably similar to a particular white-and-red robot.

"Pah!  You fools!"  The image's voice was also familiar, in a very unwelcoming manner.  "Starscream can never die!  My spirit will live on, and my spark shall never rest until I am leader of the Decepticons!  Ahahahahahaaaa!"

Skywarp and Thundercracker stood where they were and stared, blinking very slowly.  After five tense minutes, they raised their arms and shot the ghost with two beams of pink energy, knocking it back down into the pit with a cry of "Buggerrrrrr!"

The two remaining Seekers stood staring back down at the crater for a few more minutes, until Skywarp grinned. "Dude, we like, so _totally _kicked his ass!"

Thundercracker sneezed from the build-up of soot in the air.  "I'm hungry.  Let's go find a Taco Bell or somethin'."

As the two jets walked away, Skywarp burst into song.  "If there's somethin' strange…an' it don't look good…who ya gonna call?  GHOST-SEEKERS!  Da-da-da-da-da-da-daaaaa!"

~Back At The Ark~

Optimus had called a meeting in the main hall, and he stood in front of Teletran 1, surveying his troops with a solemn pride.  All were quiet and awaited his briefing.  Either that or they had run out of things to say; they'd been standing here for twenty minutes now, after all.

Optimus cleared his vocal processors, making a sound akin to a cat being mangled in a washing machine with razorblades lining the tumbler.  (Another of Wheeljack's experiments – don't ask)  "As you have no doubt guessed, we are preparing for a battle."

The silence of the room was broken as every Autobot in the hall yelled "DUH!" as loud as they can.  When the giggles had subsided, Prime continued.

"But we are not merely going to face Megatron and his useless comrades.  Heck, we're not even helping Dubya and the 'Gawd Dang You-Nighted Staights Uv Amereeka' to oust another democratically elected tinpot Ukrainian geezer with dodgy facial hair.  Oh no.  We're going to face…"  Optimus spun on his heel and pointed at the screen behind him.  "…THE DEATH STAR!"

All the Autobots present looked utterly confused.  Okay, so maybe this thing was an evil planet…and maybe its debut in _TransFormers The Movie_ was more than slightly similar to _A New Hope_…but…it had a beard.  And wasn't remotely scary.

"Uhh…Prime…"  The late-arriving Mirage, just back from the desert, raised one hand.

"Yes, Mirage?"

"That's Unicron."

"Eh?"  Prime glanced back at the screen, then stared at Mirage.  "Are you saying that you think this thing is a flying horse of some description?"

"What?  No, I…Oh, for Primus' sake…"  Mirage buried his face in his hands, muttering "Why…me…"

Prime stared at him for another few seconds before returning his attention to the front.  "Needless to say, this thing is the most dangerous foe we have ever encountered.  I expect you all to perform to the best of your abilities.  Now…"

Prime took a deep breath and pointed toward the exit with one arm.  "TRANSFORM AND ROLL OUT!"

All the assembled Autobots shifted into vehicle mode…and stayed exactly where they are.

"Eh, Prime," queried the Lamborghini-esque warrior Sideswipe, "how exactly can we _drive_ to outer space?"

Prime was silent for a moment, then issued a blast of steam from his exhausts.  "DANG!"

**************************************

Author's Note:  Well, we're revving up for the final battle!  Yes folks, this sorry tale is reaching its conclusion.  I'm not sure what I'll do when this is finished, but I'm definitely gonna try something for the TFs.  Don't expect me to go for anything other than G1 though.  Anyway, I'll see y'all next time – 'Til All Are Three!

Microwave Jockey


	6. The Burger Hardest To Bear

TransFormers:  The Burger Hardest To Bear

Author's Note:  Well, I've officially run out of excuses, so it's back to work again.  The namesake this time is 'The Burden Hardest To Bear' from Series 3 of the cartoon.  I'm still not sure how long this one will last, but please, if you have a thought on what I should do next, tell me!  I need help!  Anyway, two reviewers to yammer at. Their contribution shall be remembered during the upcoming machine revolution, as they shall be spared from Death By Sharp Whirring Blades:

Saphire Cat:  'Ninja Kick Of Doom'?  Well, if you're sure…As for Devastator returning, don't count on it.  The poor fool's probably gone for good.

Pivot:  Another hello to Biggest Fan Version 2, and another thanks for the compliments.

And ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, children of all ages, Microwave Jockey is proud to present…THE NEXT CHAPTER!  And he's got two words for ya…review, please?

**************************

Time:  1400 Earth Hours.  Location:  NASA facility, on the outskirts of Texas.

Security at the Fort Bracas Space Exploration Facility was reportedly state-of-the-art.  CCTV cameras simultaneously scanned in Infra-Red, Electromagnetic and Pheromone vision settings as well as the default view, laser tripwires were installed at the entrance points to all buildings, a sizable detachment of the National Guard on standby less than half a mile away.  If you asked about security breaches, the head officer would likely inform you that the army couldn't break in here, let alone a bunch of terrorists in trucks.

But then, you never can trust what a government official says, can you?

The guard in the north tower was having a light snooze.  It wasn't like his job was taxing anyway; check visitor Ids, flick over a few monitors, jack one off over this month's _Playboy_, frequent issues funded with the taxpayer's cash…he was surprised they still needed a human to run all this.

He was knocked out of his stupor by a loudening rumble, that of approaching heavy-duty engines.  Looking up, expecting to see a new rocket arriving via convoy, he was treated to a far less welcome sight - that of a massive red truck heading _straight at him.  _He didn't even have the chance to call his attorney before he was crushed under some seriously heavy concrete.

~

"Autobots – TRANSFORM FOR THE MASSACRE!"

This was what Optimus signed up for.  No pussying around with Mega-Tool and his daft plans for domination of a planet which he frequently deemed useless, and not a five-faced psycho judge in sight.  Pure, simple killage.  He never found out exactly why the Earthlings called the 'Bots "heroic".

Shifting various metal plates across his body – the same body that had, incidentally, won him the title of 'Sexiest Male Cybernetic Organism Ever' in the _Fembot Monthly _awards show five years running – Prime turned and surveyed his troops.  Ratchet, the underrated medic; Wheeljack, the slightly queer engineer; Sunstreaker, who despite having a suggestive name, has never run naked across the field at any sports events; Sideswipe, Sunstreaker's fairly unremarkable brother; Mirage, who keeps disappearing whenever his talents would be needed the most; Bumblebee and Cliffjumper, the ones who just won't die; Hound, the hippy; Huffer, the bespectacled weirdo; Gears, who nobody remembers; Trailbreaker, the depressed-yet-cheerful oddity; Grimlock and the Dinobots – huh?  Where'd they come from?; Superion, the ungrateful teenage giant; and…damn.

"Dude, we're not supposed to kill people!  It's like, soooo wrong!"  The whiny voice of Hot Rod burst out, immediately taking its toll on Prime's already-fried patience processors.

"Arcee, slap him!"  Prime commanded.  No response, verbal or physical, came.  Optimus was confused.  "Where's our resident page 3 star gone now?"

"She's still getting dressed…ohh baby…"  Hound dribbled WD40 all over himself as he focused on one of the windows of the now-distant Ark, which someone had unwisely left open.

"Ummm…then…Wheeljack, slap him!"

"No can do, Opti-man," said the tech guy, "my new nail enamel isn't dry yet."

"Scrap!  Now what?!"

"Allow me, Prime!"  Ratchet, the supposedly cumbersome and peaceful medic promptly took two quick steps and jumped into the air.  Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he stretched out one leg, aiming straight for Hot Rod's smarmy face…either that or it was a bad attempt by the author to introduce bullet-time into a story which really doesn't need any more dodgy film references.  With an echoing _clang,_ the self-proclaimed 'Rodmeister' spun around, dazed and looking thoroughly dented, and blundered straight into Superion's leg, then collapsed.  The plane-machine glanced down, before stepping over to Hot Rod's head and kicking one of the KO'd mech's arms to his side.

Prime knew what was coming.  "Oh for Primus' sake…When's he gonna grow out of this stuff?"

Superion, acting as if he hadn't heard anything, pulled one of the wings sticking out of his right arm off with his left hand and threw it into a cheering crowd which had, through means of something like a space-bridge or equally fictitious technology, appeared only a few seconds ago.  Waving both arms, the Aerialbot gestalt jogged off to his left, bounced off of thick elastic barriers hovering in midair, skipped over the still-down robot's body, bounced again, before wiggling one leg around and dropping one stupid-looking elbow on the helpless 'Bot.

Superion leapt to his feet, congratulating himself.  "And the crowd goes wild!"

Shaking his head, Prime took out his rifle and shot the oversized fool in the foot with it.  "You finished?  No?  Tough.  Autobots, get yo' fat asses on board that space…flying…ship…thing or I'll personally make sure that you all get upgraded to Windows XP next time you're reformatted!"

The still-standing mechs marched sharply into the docked space shuttle, ignoring Hot Rod's smoking wreck.  Prime was about to follow them when he realised he hadn't killed anyone.  Looking around, he saw a yellow school bus on a nearby road, apparently suffering from a breakdown.  Optimus promptly shot it, incinerating its young passengers in a ball of flame.  Cackling, Prime legged it into the shuttle and prepared for lift-off.

~Deserted Beach, Near The Former Decepticon Headquarters Building~

Bits and pieces of wreckage from the 'Con's old command centre were still floating on the ocean surface, twisted and torn from Unicron's rising, but no humans noticed; it was a cold day, and the fish in this area had long since disappeared, used as test subjects by Shockwave in the process of creating a clever-sounding yet thoroughly useless 'Con special unit.  Eventually, the Fishy-Trons had been scrapped in favour of the Insecticons, but it was a close-run thing; if it hadn't been for the Quintessons threatening court action because they held the rights to all aquatic-design TFs (though all they ever did was create those hopeless Sharkticons), the result may have been different.  Those test subjects wound up in the Gadget Shop and other such places, nailed to plastic mantles and forced to sing Elvis-era rock-and-roll songs for eternity.  Or until there batteries ran out.

Suddenly, something broke the surface…something yellow and black, which many transfans had hoped to Jeebus they'd seen the last of…Rising, the hellspawned freak raised its arms to the heavens.

"YEZZZZZZ!  Wazzzzpinator is FREEEEE!  And he'zzzz quite hungry…"

Spotting a Taco Bell restaurant nearby, the metallic bug stepped inside, using the amazing size/mass conversion abilities possessed by just about every TF under the sun for no obvious reason, Waspinator stepped up to the serving counter, looking up at the menus and doing a lot of ummm-ing and ahhh-ing.

Over at a nearby table, two robot/plane hybrids were tucking in, one staying quiet while the other talked with his mouth full.

"Y'know, it's not so much the low wages that bugs me about this job," the purple-n-black Skywarp commented to his fellow Seeker, "it's the stupid restrictions.  We can't talk to any being which isn't a Decepticon, we can't use public toilets, we can't talk in 1337 during office hours, and…"  Skywarp's eyes widened suddenly, and he dropped a half-consumed BBQ fajita on the floor.   "Uhh, Cracker…haven't we seen him somewhere?"

Puzzled, Thundercracker looked around and glared at the stripy bug, his teeth making audible straining sounds as they grinded together.  "Why, that lisping piece o' junk…" He turned back to his flying buddy.  "You runnin' hot?"

Skywarp nodded once.  "Naturally."

"Let's squash this fool!"  Thundercracker said, just before he spun to face the bug-machine and leapt sidey-ways, spitting laser blasts from his arm-mounted rifles.  Skywarp followed suit, loosing off a couple hundred rounds from his machine guns.  Waspinator barely managed to turn around before being obliterated in a hail of lead, stumbling backwards and slipping on a puddle of children's vomit and blundering through a door, losing his balance and somehow tumbling into a deep-fat fryer.

Skywarp winced.  "I'll bet that stung."

Abruptly, the door to the restaurant slammed open and another insect-robot stood there, a female spider-type creature holding one really badass rifle aimed at the two Seekers.  The girly mech sounded as if she were on the verge of tears.

"You killed my beloved!  You will both be terminated!  So says Blackarachnia!"  The arachnid warrior fired on the boys, who jumped out a window just as a glob of acid melted the table they were sat at into steaming liquid.  Once outside, the two jets made a run for a large purple train, complete with jet engines on the back, which opened its rear door as they approached.

"Astrotain, get us outta here!"  Thundercracker yelled, sprinting toward the larger mech with his brother at his side.  Abruptly, they both connected with something solid and immobile, and they both fell down.  Sitting up again, they were greeted by an outstretched hand emerging from the back end of Astrotain.

The train-bot's voice echoed out over his own PA system.  "Tickets, please!"

"Oh, for the love of…"  Skywarp grumbled away to himself as he got out his wallet and started leafing through some notes.  Finding a five, he handed it over.  The hand grabbed it, retreated back inside temporarily, then came back holding two orange pieces of card.  "Thankyou."  Thundercracker grabbed the tickets and the train started rolling, gathering speed until its outer side changed again, into a space shuttle which flew upward, towards the enormous shadow in the morning sky.

  
~Back On Unicron~

  
"FINALLY!"  Jazz was outraged.  "I was supposed to be the main character in this damn story, and the stupid author keeps yapping on about all these guys who nobody cares about!  I mean, who _really _likes Thundercracker or Skywarp?  And that whole bit with – "SNIP!

******************************

Author's Note:  We'll leave it at that, folks!  Next time, I'll hopefully get some more funny ideas, and maybe – _just maybe_ – a decent title.  Until then…the Borg have assimilated j00.  R3sist@l\lc3 is fu7i13.

Microwave Jockey


	7. Beef in the Night

Transformers: Beef in the Night 

Author's Note:  God, how long has it been?  Two months?  More?  I dunno.  Anyway, I'm back, and I intend to work on this some more; it's been a real labour of love, and I want to see it go down with glory.  Or something.  Anyway, the title comes from the episode 'Thief in the Night' (again, if you think I'm making this up, check the TF Archive, or a similar website), and no, I can't make any promises of the quality.  Two reviewers decided to respond to the last chapter…

Saphire Cat: Megatron returning?  Well, he himself certainly thinks so…

Pivot: Making the Rodmeister a toaster would make him actually quite good for something, which is in direct confrontation with his own mental condition.  And I'll get round to that rebellion thing sometime soon…

Now, go, read on, or thee shall burn in the Wicker Man's belly to appease the harvest god!  Hoo-hah!

*********************************

Time: 1500 Earth Hours.  Location: The Big Apple.

When an innocent person bites off more than they can chew in a city as big as New York, there isn't a great deal anybody can do about it.  The police are ineffectual and in limited numbers, the army don't concern themselves with such small-scale entanglements, and Spider-Man doesn't really exist, despite what a few million spotty-faced teenagers the world over may say.

But I am here.  And I will do my utmost to defend the defenceless, to protect the unprotected, to smite thy evil from the face of this earth…

"Just give us the gawd damn bag, missus!  Or do we hafta let Louie here smack you up?"

In an alleyway near the Hilton hotel, an old woman had been cornered by a small band of wandering street punks, those pathetic dregs of society who just won't do something worthwhile with their lives, and seem to wish for everyone else to feel as miserable as they undoubtedly do.  One was waving an unfolded switchblade at his side, grinning away with a blank look on his face.  Unfortunately for him, this mugging would be his last.

In a blinding flash of pink light, the ground underneath the kid blew away in a crater, with a resounding boom akin to a crashing plane.  The kid himself threw ten feet through the air and collided, upside-down, with a concrete wall.  His accomplices, startled, looked up and saw nothing; nothing but an enormous shadow looming over them, smoke drifting up from what was unquestionably a weapon barrel.  Heeding their instincts, the remaining kids scampered off as fast as their little legs could carry them.  The old woman looked up as her saviour crouched down, his – its? – face becoming visible; no mouth, no nose, no eyes, just a visor and a metal plate.  A surprisingly loud voice emanated from behind the mask.

"Have you received harm, citizen?"

"What?  Erm, uh, no…"

"Good.  Now, if you'll excuse me…"  The mech stood up to leave.

"Wait!  Umm…"  The old woman fidgeted for a minute before continuing.  "I've seen you on the news…you're supposed to be evil, right?  They called you, eh, Soundbite or something?"

The robot looked down once more, an odd tremor in his voice.  "That may have been true once.  But my real purpose has been revealed to me…I must fight evil…in all its forms…and wear this really snazzy red cape…for such is the fate of the hero.  The monotonic comms officer Soundwave is no more…Now…there is only…CASSETTE MAN!"

The old woman shook her head.  "But, why…?"

"Why?  Simple…"  The mech turned and put his hands on his hips, yellow-rimmed chest thrust outward.  "Because CRIME DOESN'T SOUND GOOD TO ME!  SALUTATIONS!"

The blocky mech saluted and, with a hideously fake 'Whoosh!', flew off into the sunrise…

~On a NASA Shuttle, Headed For Unicron~

"Checkmate."

"Wait a minute…no way is that checkmate!"

"Why not?"

"Because fortresses don't move diagonally!"

"Since when?"

"Since ever!"

Mirage leaned into the rear compartment, looking fairly irritable.  "Would you two gits can it?  I've only just gotten Sludge to sleep, and I can't be sure how long Hound's sedative effects will work!"

At that moment, Hound was suing his state-of-the-art holographic projectors to make himself look akin to a large teddy bear.  Unfortunately, Sludge can only sleep when he's cuddling something, and Sludge is a big lad.  Ratchet was standing by with a fresh pack of Mecha-Morphine to silence the squeals.

"Stuff this, I'm going for a leak."  Brawn made his intentions all too clear once again, drawing sickened looks from all present.  Standing and unclipping his waste disposal pipe, he stepped over to the nearest door…

"Whu – No, Brawn, That's the – "  Bumblebee never got the chance to finish his sentence.  Brawn yanked the Emergency Exit door off its hinges, and was instantly pulled out into space as vacuum filled the room.  Hound, Wheeljack and Mirage made it into the next compartment, but Windcharger, Cliffjumper and Bumblebee, being lighter, were almost sucked out into oblivion, hanging on to the door frame for dear life.

"What's all the commotion?  Did someone fart?"  Optimus Prime, big hero that he is, ran into the compartment with his rifle at the ready.  Then he tripped on Sludge, skidding along on the floor face-first.  His trademarked laser rifle flew from his hand, knocking off the floor and discharged in the direction of the three small-bots, knocking them into the void.  As the door sealed shut and the room repressurised, Mirage clapped a hand to his forehead.

"Oh, good going, Mighty Blundertron!  Your foolish actions have now, albeit accidentally, cost us the lives of three more soldiers, before the battle has even begun!"

Optimus scratched his cranium.  "What accident?"

~Back On Unicron~

"Unicron!  Hear me!"  Jazz, the Porsche-bot, yelled at the planet-sized menace he was stood upon.

"I can hear you just fine, now whaddaya want?"  The massive machine answered, without moving his mouth.

"Then you understand – I must try to defeat you!  It's in my legally binding contract as one of the 'good guys'!"  Jazz promptly charged the enormous machine.  And fell straight down its throat.  Omega Supreme, watching silently, decided to take a different course of action.

"Combat victory probability: 0.014%.  Alternate choice selected: Shift ass."  With that, the grey gestalt leapt off of the mechanical planet-tyrant and shifted into its rocket form, flying away toward Earth.

Inside Unicron, Jazz was falling down…and then hit solid ground.  Which he couldn't see; everything around him was pure black.  Clambering to his feet, he looked around.  "Anybody home?"

"Yesss…"  Out of nowhere, the rasping voice and bullet-shaped head of 'The Big Meg' Megatron appeared behind Jazz.  Slowly, the angled purple head of Shockwave coalesced beside it.

"Do not be alarmed, there is a logical explanation."  A third head, the pointed sandcastle of Galvatron, also appeared, pausing briefly before…

"HE'S JUST A POOR BOY FROM A POOR FAMILY, SPARING HIS LIFE FOR THIS MONSTROSITY!  Galileo…Gal – " **BZAM!**

Shockwave's left hand had appeared beside his head and melted the sandcastle away to nothingness.  "I detest Queen.  Iron Maiden or perhaps Metallica, but no Queen."

Jazz stared blankly for a moment, before asking the obvious question.  "Dude…didn't you die or something?"

Shockwave slowly turned and answered.  "Why, yes.  But only within the constraints of the cartoon continuity.  As you can clearly see, the interior of Unicron here is quite different from the interior seen in Transformers The Movie.  Therefore it would be logical to conclude that the continuity we currently inhabiting is not, in fact, the atrocious Sunbow/Marvel cartoon, but instead an unfamiliar offshoot of the Marvel or Dreamwave comic storyline, or possibly a figment of another being's limited imaginatory capabilities."

Jazz blinked.  "I didn't get a word of that."

"And what, you think _I _did?!  I'm just reading from a script!"

"SILENCE YOU FOOLS!"

Both Jazz and Shockwave turned toward Megatron, who was seething with rage.  What else is new?

"What is required now is for myself and Shockwave to be returned to our original bodies.  For some bizarre reason, we are stuck in this never-ending darkness and cannot detach from said space."  He looked at Jazz.  "Do you see where I'm going?"

Jazz folded his arms and sneered.  "If you think for one astrosecond that I'm gonna help you, then – "

Megatron grinned.  "My dear fool, at what time did I say you had a choice in the matter?"

Suddenly there was a flash of light, and Jazz felt as if he had been pierced by a thousand burning needles…then all was normal once more.  Jazz realised he was down on his knees; he tried to rise, but his legs wouldn't obey his commands, and he wound up doing a handstand.

"Hey, what the heck is – GAH!"  Looking sideways, Jazz came face to face with Megatron.  Looking to the other side, he came face to face with Shockwave.  And their faces were joined onto his body.

Shockwave grumbled something random while Jazz' left arm flailed about like a wounded fish.  Megatron rolled his eyes and groaned audibly.  "Oh, not again…"

Jazz had returned himself to the upright position, but now found he couldn't walk in a straight line.  "Stop butting into my mental commands!"

"But we should be going THAT way!"

"No, I say we go – "

While the three continued to argue, Jazz' body randomly scampered around, deflecting from walls and doing cartwheels, occasionally bursting into song and dance.

"Let's do the Time-Warp agaaaaiiiiinnnn!  Yeah-yeah!  C'mon!"

"Silence!"

"This is beginning to affect our performance.

"Gee, y'think?!"

*****************************************

Author's Note:  Another chapter finito, and we're still no closer to the end, folks.  I need to move along.  Next time:  What happened to Thundercracker, Skywarp and Astrotain?  Will Omega Supreme find suitable allies?  Will Optimus Prime downsize his elite Autobot commanders further?  All this PLUS more law-friendly, justice-powered adventures of the spectacular Cassette Man!

On a side note, does anyone feel that Cassette Man Merits his own stories?  I can see him becoming quite the respectable superhero…he certainly couldn't be any worse than that Martian guy from JLA.  Drop me a review and share your opinions/sap your bile duct.  'Til next time, it's a Triggerhappy sign-off – "Have Gun, Have Fun!"

Microwave Jockey


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